Coffee's For Closers
by Lyoness of Avalon
Summary: A young hunter pulls into town and grabs a coffee on a whim. He-a soul of freedom and battle and hope-meets a soul of order and longing and loneliness. A falling angel pauses his quest for a quiet drink. He-a soul of wild winds and flashing storms and soaring mountains-meets a soul of open roads and blazing skies and smoking guns.
1. Coffee and Kisses

Notes on the story: This is an underdeveloped AU, wherein Bobby and Ellen raise the boys more than John, who has used his training as a Man of Letters to go after the demon. Sam and Dean have adopted Jo as their sister and they take occasional cases between the lives they have begun to lead.

The cover art is borrowed from the wonderful desuchieru on tumblr, who does loads of awesome Supernatural fanart.

* * *

The Impala roared into the city limits fifteen miles an hour over the posted speed, Dean and Jo laughing hysterically as Sam tried to complain about reckless driving. Dean did slow down, finally, still grinning, and took a look at the main stretch of road.

"Jeez, Sammy, way to pick a case. Pretty sure we just left Stanford yesterday."

"I can't help what I see Dean," Sam protested, rubbing the arm Dean had playfully punched.

"Psychic my ass," Jo muttered, glaring through the window at the sunny SoCal-wannabe town. "This is gonna to be lame."

They grabbed rooms at the second cheapest motel in town before splitting up. Dean left Jo at the cop shop to start looking for witnesses to interview and Sam was at the book store next door checking out the town's history. He was going to take some time to relax before the flood of information started pouring in.

The coffeeshop he was about to enter proclaimed the best pie in the county was baked here and as he hadn't seen any open bars on the way in this was probably the next best thing in town. The presence of an oversized motorcycle outside confirmed his thoughts.

Dean slipped into the crowded shop, the jangling bell that announced his entrance barely heard over the alternative music piping in and the excitable chatter of happy patrons. The whole place was decked out in fall colors with signs for pumpkin spice lattes and apple pie on the walls.

He almost turned around, figuring he wouldn't unwind at all with the jostling and the bell at the door ringing as people entered and left, coupled with the cool fall breeze that swept in with them. The sight of a leather clad back at one of the bar stools stopped him. Curiosity won out and he really did want that coffee.

"Large coffee, black," Dean smiled at the waitress, fishing out his wallet when she caught his eye.

"Could I get another espresso as well?" the man at the stool called out before she turned away.

Thoughts raced through Dean's mind, questioning how long he could stay at this spot, what this man looked like, and most importantly, how to make him speak again, because his voice was deep and grave and Dean wanted to hear it again.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the barstool. "I'm Dean."

"Cas," the other man replied, looking up and capturing Dean with an intense gaze. Just as his voice was deeper than he'd expected, this man was far more attractive than Dean would have guessed. Startled blue eyes continued to look at him quizzically under a pile of dark, lush curls, lightly chapped lips parted in wonderment, shoulders broad under a well-fitted jacket, almost inhumanly still in his seat.

"Been here long?" Dean finally asks, trying to remember to breathe properly.

The stranger-Cas-shook his head. "Just passing through."

"Ah, same here actually," he said. There was a lull as they each sipped their drinks, dragging on until Dean became uncomfortable. He glanced at the other man, engrossed in his thermal cup. Cas didn't appear to even notice Dean at his side anymore.

"Nice jacket," he finally said, after looking too long and hard.

Cas looked up then, startled, and took Dean in, looking the other man up and down (twice) before finally meeting his eyes and smiling.

"Same to you," he replied, his voice gravelly, the tone sending a small shiver up Dean's spine.

"Is that your bike out there?" It couldn't hurt to ask.

"Yeah," he looked somewhat pleased with himself, dark ruffled hair getting wilder as he ran a hand over it.

"I used to have a Thunderbolt," Dean wanted to keep him talking.

"You ride?"

"It's been a few years," Dean admitted. "I had a pretty bad accident a while back. Dad stuck me in the garage for a while after that, so I've been elbow deep in classic cars ever since."

It was easy to talk for a while, sharing the stories about their first time on a motorcycle, why they rode, where they had traveled, adventures they had around the country. Both men relaxed, more at ease with a stranger than either could recall being. They spent over an hour swapping stories, teasing and listening and flirting. Dean was happy, enjoying Cas's smile and laugh and voice.

The hunter reached for what was either his third or his fourth coffee, batting away Cas's hand as he made to pull it out of Dean's reach. Deflected, the brunette looked at him, fingers dancing toward his collarbone.

"Nice ink. What's it for?"

"Sibling solidarity," he said, the lie sticking in his throat instead of coming easily to his lips as it usually did. "We all got the same one a few years back. My little brother found it in a book, thought it looked sweet."

He pulled the neck of his shirt down to show off the entire mark. He wanted to be proud, just a little.

"You got any?" He didn't care that it was 2 p.m., not 2 a.m. or that he probably wouldn't have bothered walking into this joint if not for the motorbike out front. He was going to go for this.

"Yes," a short pause, a silent dare. "Would you like to see?"

The brunette's face was alight for a moment, testing and teasing. The expression slipped away a moment later, his gaze serious now.

He pulled his collar aside to show the script that followed the hollow above the bone. Dean traced it gently with his fingertips, asking what it meant.

"Never forget," the other man whispered into Dean's ear. "We're all just stories in the end. I believe it's a quote from somewhere, or perhaps it will be one day."

Hand still on Cas's leather clad shoulder, breath mingling in the warm air, Dean looked at Cas, intense and serious and calm. Dean drew Cas closer and kissed him softly, the taste of coffee beans and cigarettes in his mouth. This was his breaking point; two in the afternoon in some cheerful coffee shop he never would have set foot in two years ago, coffee cooling, forgotten, on the counter in front of him.

Dean hesitated for a breath, an eternity, before finally drawing back. He met Cas's eyes, wide and blue and amazed.

Kissing strangers in the middle of the day was not something he ever did. Those blue eyes, though, looked into him, read him, challenged him. Unlike his siblings, Dean had never shown any indication towards the more arcane segment of hunting. He did, occasionally, get what he liked to call a hunch. He had that feeling about Cas. The man was important, somehow.

So Dean drew back to look at Cas, who looked back at him steadily, cocking his head slightly to the side, lips still slightly parted. There was something in his eyes, ancient and knowing and aching as though everything he'd seen should have broken him but this one moment has stopped it.

Dean blushed. "I shouldn't-I need to-"

He had an already-made excuse sitting in the bookshop next door and he couldn't even get the words out.

"Is this not what you wanted?" he doesn't speak the way Dean expects him to. It's too formal, almost stilted, but somehow it is true to him.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

"I should get going," he murmured. This dark haired stranger was too overwhelming, too much for Dean to comprehend.

"I must go as well. There is something I must do, something that comes before this. I am sorry for leaving. This," Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Is not wrong. Do not forget that."

He sighed and stood heavily, allowing Dean to stand beside him before he made his way to the exit. Dean trailed him out of the shop, prepared to continue the conversation outdoors. The warm, slightly humid air enveloped them for a moment until the scent of falling leaves whipped away that of coffee and spice.

The strange, beautiful man was preparing to go. Dean knew it. He'd felt it when he'd kissed him, another little shiver in his consciousness. This was not someone to have once and then leave. This was deeper than anything he'd ever had.

So he pushed the dark haired man against the wall, searching his eyes for acceptability, found it, and began to kiss him fiercely. It was full of longing and promise and regret and Dean was losing this too fast, far too fast.

They broke apart, eyes locked onto each other.

"Dean," Cas pierced him with those impossibly blue eyes. "It was good to meet you. I hope we will see each other again."

"You're going then?" broke out of Dean against his will, frustrated and almost desperate. He wanted to know Cas, to talk with him, learn about him-something he hadn't felt for another person since...well, it had been a long time since he'd felt connected to someone who wasn't blood.

"It's my sister," Cas finally admitted, after looking like he was fighting inside to confess his goal.

That wasn't what Dean had been expecting. He blinked, shocked. "Do you need help?"

Cas shook his head.

Dean persisted, wanting to help, wanting to stay with this unusual man. "What's her name at least? I can keep an eye out."

Cas, eyes full gratitude and concern, didn't speak for a moment, gathering himself. "She will probably call herself Anna. She will...feel like me, is the only way I can describe her. She is light and loneliness, strength and stardust. If you encounter her, I think you will know."

Dean nodded and grabbed Cas's hand, pulling a pen out of his pocket. "I don't give just anyone my number, you know," he muttered, scrawling the numbers on the back of his hand. "Good luck, then."

One last desperate kiss after Cas mounted the bike and then he was off. Dean would have to find his way on his own.

The moment is ended by the arrival of Sam and Jo. They had finished their interviews and came to meet him, spotting him outside. The slipped up to either side of him, wrapped their arms around him, pulling him out of depths of ocean blue, the bitter scent of coffee beans and the image of a tattoo written in words he could never read.


	2. Soul Kisses

This is an underdeveloped AU, wherein Castiel was sent down from Heaven to search for Anna, the leader of his garrison. They are both needed to fight the inevitable civil war among the angels. Unable to return without her, he is slowly losing his powers.

This is the same story, told from the other side of the coin.

* * *

The door blew open again. Castiel didn't bother looking up. It was not Anna. She was not in this town-he would move on to the next one shortly.

(He was falling now, had been falling since he came down to Earth. He was losing a little more Grace each day as he looked for his superior. It was something he was willing to lose to save Heaven.)

He had been on Earth for nearly two years now, had started riding the motorcycle nearly a year ago. He did not want to waste his power transporting himself from place to place. And the bike fit, somehow, the man he was not.

He thought about covering this body in ink to hide himself from anyone who could hurt him. He had tattooed an Enochian spell on his left abdomen, hiding him from angel eyes after Uriel had nearly killed him shortly after his arrival. He would get an anti-demonic possession tattoo on his left arm to match the bands around his right for the angels he had killed. He would place a compass all across his hip, hoping it would lead him home one day. His back was still bare-he was considering wings, the very human concept of irony not lost on him.

No, he really didn't care who had just entered this little shop in this tiny town. His attitude changed when they sat down beside him and Castiel could feel the power radiating off of him. He was angel-touched. Castiel would keep his head down and hope he left soon.

The man spoke and Castiel's head snapped up, examining the human before meeting his eyes. He was beautiful, well-suited for the archangel that Castiel could almost see in his shadow. Full, soft lips, light skin covered with freckles, wide, bright green eyes that looked at him with was Michael's vessel, empty and waiting. This then, was Dean Winchester, doubly blessed as the Righteous Man and vessel of Heaven's finest soldier.

He finally replied, a basic response that he often heard humans exchange when a compliment was given. He asked for another drink, marveling at the things humans came up with.

And there he sat; speaking with one of the most well-known humans of heaven, pretending to be only the man he appeared to be. He enjoyed himself immensely, probably another sign that he was falling, that his Grace was diminishing, more feathers were dropping from his wings.

(And he reveled in it.)

They talked about such inane things that Castiel marveled at the interest he took in the conversation. The angel could see that Dean had a tattoo and reached out to better examine it. He pulled his hand back, realizing that humans did not welcome the touch of a stranger.

He pulled his human shell around himself and asked Dean about his mark. He suspected he should not be saying things quite the way he was, but this man was the most interesting human he had ever encountered.

He should take his leave, before the presence of Dean Winchester led him to do something he would regret. Instead, the angel's eyes sparkled as Dean asked about Castiel's tattoos, because he felt surer that he would see this man again than he had ever been of anything else.

Castiel pulled the collar of his shirt over, couldn't help smiling a little, allowing Dean to examine the Enochian script inked just above his collarbone. The hunter brushed his fingers along the unfamiliar letters, causing the angel to shiver slightly.

(He must be falling even faster than he had thought. Touch should not do that to an angel.)

When Dean asked what it meant, Castiel replied softly, his mouth close to Dean's ear, his deep voice almost poetic as he explained.

(Never forget that you are not human, that you are not on Earth for them, that you have a mission, that you will topple Heaven to find her.)

The young man drew back slightly, green eyes wide, meeting Castiel's in a sudden blaze of understanding.

(We're the ones writing our story.)

Scents of coffee and pumpkin spice, sounds of voices and music all faded away.

Green eyes, so young and haunted, met blue, so ancient and lonely. Dean brought his lips to the mouth of the angel, gentle and sweet, hesitant, unsure, lasting a second frozen in time before breaking away; still close enough for their breath to mingle in the warm air.

Kissing was an intricate, intimate, inextricably human thing. It was a response to so much-happiness and sadness, tenderness, faith, despair, protection, adoration. A Sign of loyalty, love, trust, desire, need. Castiel kissed for all of these reasons.

Dean Winchester was special. Castiel knew this before the human had leaned into him, felt it as for himself as their lips touched, and as the hunter examined him afterward, it settled into what remained of his Grace, lodging, becoming a part of him.

Now they are both frightened, Castiel of his quickly developing humanity, Dean of his fast-falling façade.

(Castiel was falling, falling Fallen, losing his Grace, his wings, faster every day and this human was making it so much worse. He had watched him with curiosity once or twice but never would have thought to try to meet him. Never would have guessed the results of such an encounter.)

Castiel could see the blood rushing to Dean's face, the moment he realized what he had done, the uncertainty on his face as he tried to decide if it was good or bad.

He should go, but he is captivated by green eyes, looking at him with clarity, compassion, lust. He should go. Shaking himself free, he stood, drawing his wings close around him.

Dean followed him to the exit. The angel felt the human's hand on his shoulder as Dean turned him around and pushed him against the wall of the shop. Grabbed his jacket lapels, crushing his lips against the other's for too brief of a time. This was furious, co-dominating, not sweet and gentle and testing as the first had been.

They broke apart, breathing heavily, watching each other, neither sure about the other's next intent. The look that they shared said I can't believe I'm doing this, I want to know you, I want to see you again, why why why? It's so raw, so open.

Castiel cleared his throat. It was time. He must find his sister and remaining with the human was likely to result in the full loss of his grace. He wanted to stay, to explore these feelings. He wanted to. But he had long been trained to ignore his wants. He would complete his mission and he would, if he was lucky, meet the hunter again. Not too soon-too soon would be disastrous.

(Castiel did not think he would stop his Fall if Dean was what waited at the bottom.)

Castiel allowed himself a smile. He was happy, no longer as deep in despair of finding his sister as he had been. Dean had given him back hope, and now he was loath to leave.

It was no simple thing for the angel to admit his purpose to the human, even if Castiel knew that Dean would not recognize the magnitude of the information. He was touched that the hunter would offer to help. Castiel know that Dean had his own work to do.

His purpose renewed, Castiel was finally able to say farewell to Dean, even if it was a no less bitter goodbye than the drink that they had shared. He mounted his bike, Dean kissing him one last time, desperation mingling with desire. He kicked into gear and drove away, leaving behind sea foam green eyes and lips with promises lingering unspoken.


End file.
